


eyes shut tight, never open up

by gladiatorAviator



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Four Swords
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Character Study, Gen, with splatterings of my own canon on how the sword works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-12-02 00:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20949059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladiatorAviator/pseuds/gladiatorAviator
Summary: "You're too nice for something like that. You'd just mess it up""I'm the one who will dowhatever it takes to win."





	eyes shut tight, never open up

**Author's Note:**

> hey remember that scene where Blue nearly kills their dad? because I sure fucking do and I'll make sure you remember it too

_Wake up! Wake up!_

You remember saying something cocky, because of course you did. Something light, to forget the heaviness in your chest, the way the dark thoughts curled and punctured your heart, the way they became more numerous than your veins, choking out your breath as they replaced your blood. You remember facing him, a sparkle in your eye to hide the screams in your chest that wanted to burst through, the fear you felt pounding behind your eyes. 

You said something stupid, didn’t you? Of course you did. Words were never your strong point, yet here you are, cursed to feel _everything_ they ever felt every time you clenched the hilt of your sword. They’d be angry too, if they felt as much as you did without knowing how to spread out the threads of the tapestry wrapped around your throat. So many conflicting emotions. You remember forgetting yourself in that sea, drowning constantly against emotion after blasted emotion. Which one was yours? Which one was yours? Which one was _you?_ Roughly cut into threes or fours or fives, you didn’t know which rhythm was yours that played in your head. Occasionally they’d meet up, blinking perfectly in time before catastrophizing off into too many lights, too many sounds, too many, too many. One thundering off before overlapping and changing, and here you’d feel elated and there you’d feel as though your mouth has been sewn shut as no one listened, and here you’d feel the dark crushing against you and there you’d feel fear as you kept running, footsteps uneven as sand buried its way under your skin. 

They’d be angry too, yeah? Or is that just another lie you tell yourself to help you feel better?

You face him with your lips tilted uneven, a smirk hiding the way the corners shivered, because you’re supposed to be strong and right now you’re supposed to be as underhanded as your shadow in order to keep Green safe. Is that your heart raking across your ribs or is that Green’s? You don’t have time to figure it out. 

Light erupts in front of you, and someone screams in your head as you see the man who raised you (_not you, not you, him, not you_) fly backwards, a resounding _crack_ echoing around stone corridors as he falls, chest to the sky as you fall to your knees. 

_What did you do?_

_Blue, you killed him!_

_Dad!_

And there, the rhythm lines up and all you can feel is hurt, is pain, is the sword running through your chest and guilt and shame and you did _that_—

You toss your sword to the side. Dangerous, up here where the air is so thin and monsters lurk around every corner but you can’t deal with those overlapping voices. You can’t move, paralyzed by what you’ve done. You want to put your ear to his chest to make sure you didn’t stop his heart, that big human heart that raised you (not you, but _them,_ because he never taught you to fight so unfairly and they’re so much better than you in every way) but you can’t move and you feel ice moving up your arms and legs. Your hands scrape against the gritty stone as you feel your breaths shorten into desperate pants. You’ve been cast aside, forgotten, as the other three rush up to your father and try shaking him awake and you can’t focus on anything else, your head dropping to stare at the cracked ground beneath you. You feel yourself grow cold, your soul leaving your body, pulled out just as effectively as the Poe did—

You squeeze your eyes shut. _Wake up,_ you tell yourself. _This has to be a dream! You didn’t just... kill him. This is a hallucination, he’s not real, this is just a fake—_

Green screams, and you feel your throat tighten. You want to lift your head, to scramble over and be next to them but no, you’re alone with nothing to hold and a heaviness is starting to weigh down so hard on your back you think you can hear your spine start to snap. Vertebrae by vertebrae. That’s how you were going to die, by your pride, your utter _stupidity,_ shoving its feet into your back and laughing as you break, so efficiently, so effectively, like how you just killed him. Your head is heavy as you lift it, desperate heaves filling your chest as you wait to see if your father still breathes, not wretched like yours. Not like you deserve to breathe, no, you deserve nothing but ice to tear your way down your windpipe, splitting apart the skin inside and letting your blood spill out as if that can make peace for what you’ve done, what _you’ve_ done all on your own accord, like some sort of unthinking fool. You played right into their hands, just like Vio said. Good guys killing good guys. Are you _good_ anymore? Were you even _good_ in the first place?

You choke out a cry, thrusting a hand against your mouth to keep it quiet because this isn’t about you, it’s about _them,_ just as it always has been. Let them mourn. Let them mourn. You don’t deserve them crying over your body as they are with him.

After all, you’re not the leader. 

You hardly even know if you’re the hero.


End file.
